


Just Like Heaven

by Kushana



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Din Djarin, Aromantic Luke Skywalker, Aromantic spectrum, Asexual Din Djarin, Asexual Luke Skywalker, Asexual Relationship, Contemplation, M/M, POV Din Djarin, Soft Din Djarin, Soft Luke Skywalker, general softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29353854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kushana/pseuds/Kushana
Summary: At first, he watches.Then, he touches.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	Just Like Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, like many of us I've felt the pull to jump onto the DinLuke train. This is my first fic in this fandom. My knowledge of Star Wars comes from the Original Trilogy, and whatever I know about the Mandalorian comes from binge reading almost all fics in this fandom and watching the rescue scene, which I watched only to see Luke being a BAMF, because well, Luke. He will always be my first hero, and possibly my last.
> 
> I'm both arospec and acespec, and it's my perspective I'm giving here. If it doesn't match your experience, it's totally valid :)
> 
> English is not my first language, though it's my love, so please be kind. Also, this has not been beta'ed and I suck at summaries.
> 
> Title comes from "Just Like Heaven" by The Cure.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

* * *

At first, he watches.

He watches the contrast between green skin and tan clothing, between tanned skin and black garments, between bare skin and a gloved hand. 

He watches the light turn from dawn to day to dusk to night, the leaves change colour and drop and melt into the earth and be born again, the seasons blend into autumn into winter into spring into summer and back into autumn.

He watches from behind a visor, the world duller and colder, and without it in the moments when he’s alone with Grogu and alone in the house and in the clearing and on the roof and hidden by the trees while Luke is focused on the child and later on the children.

He watches dark blond hair being ruffled by the wind and by tiny hands and hands a bit bigger but still childish and its owner’s hands when he’s frustrated or thinking or pushing it back after a sparring session or a demonstration that got him sweaty.

He watches by daylight and by lamplight and sometimes candlelight when the power goes out during a thunderstorm and the children gather around Luke in the common room to get soothed and comforted and listen to stories.

Mostly, he watches from afar. He has a feeling Luke knows, but he doesn’t say anything.

  
  
  


Then, he touches.

He’s always touched with gloved hands, with a barrier between himself and the world, much like his helmet, much like his armour.

Now, he touches with bare hands.

A downy head and large, pointy ears. Tiny clawed hands that look so small and frail in his. Tan clothing that feels rough under his careful fingers, and warm from Grogu’s body heat, and sheets that feel a little rough too and sometimes cold and sometimes warm and always like home.

The earth that sometimes crumbles between his fingers, silky and brittle, and sometimes melts and sticks, and sometimes refuses to be parted from the ground, but still yields flowers and trees and bushes that in turn yield fruits, and vegetables that grow and ripen under Luke’s precise care. 

The water from the pond nearby and the streams that grow and flow in spring when the ice melts and the cold stings his hands and he can’t stop laughing at the feeling of rush, of flow, of life unrestrained, and sometimes he longs to strip bare and stand outside in the rain, arms outstretched, to become one with the sky.

The bark of trees, rough and catching in places and tracing paths that leads from the earth to the sky and back. Branches and twigs and logs that sometimes leave splinters in the pads of his fingers or the palm of his hands if he’s not careful. He knows Luke notices, notices the bare hands and the small cuts and abrasions from touching, but the Jedi never says anything, just smiles a soft smile that tugs at Din’s heart.

And one night, he touches another human’s hand.

They’re sitting across from each other at Luke’s kitchen table, the light from the oil lamp flickering softly. The children are in bed, have been for a while. Luke is reading, face and body relaxed in the tan clothes he favours in the evenings when it’s only him or the two of them still awake. He looks so much younger, like this. He cradles his book in his left hand, bare fingers a contrast against the leather cover, his chin resting in his other hand, elbow propped on the table. Din’s fingers itch to touch. It’s not the first time he’s felt the itch, but it’s the first time he feels ready to give in.

“Luke,” he says.

The Jedi raises his head to meet his eyes through the visor of his helmet, as he always does. _Soft_ , Din thinks. _He looks so soft_.

“Yes?”

Luke’s expression is open, welcoming. Din takes a deep breath.

“May I touch your hand?”

He stretches his own hand across the table, palm up, an offering, and watches. No look of surprise. Luke’s expression seems to soften even more, if it is possible. He puts his book aside, pages open, and puts his hand in Din’s.

“Of course,” he answers.

Din is the one surprised. Luke always looks so soft when he’s unguarded, that he thought his hand would feel soft as well. It makes sense, though, that the skin is a bit rough. There are calluses from training and combat and wielding a saber and training younglings, from repairing ships and shelters, from cultivating the earth and grooming the surroundings of the school. This hand is no stranger to work, much like Din’s, though he’s never been much of a farmer. There’s the contrast of skin tone, and of size, but that’s about the only differences between the two. That, and the men they belong to.

Din strokes his fingers over Luke’s hand, now using both of his, fascinated by the feeling of another human’s skin against his own. It’s warm, like Luke. He raises his head to look at him. The Jedi has the same soft, open expression, something almost tender in the crinkling of his eyes and the curl of his mouth as he looks at their hands. Din watches the glow of the lamp on blond hair that has started to curl and clears his throat.

“May I touch your hair?”

Luke smiles, almost shy, and brings Din’s right hand to his hair, tugging a bit on his arm and leaning on the table.

“Yes.”

Din touches. Luke’s hair is as soft as it looks, strands silky and flowing between his fingers as the Force through every living thing - or so he understands. He relishes their texture, the way they weave around his fingers when he cards them through the light waves. The angle is not really comfortable, and Luke is almost lying on the table, but his face looks peaceful, eyes closed, lips half-open in relaxation. Din feels a sigh escape his lips, escape his lungs.

“I don’t know that I could want more than that,” he says. 

This is not all that he means, but he knows that Luke will understand anyway. They’ve never discussed what exists between them, the sense of deep connection that has nothing to do with Grogu, or the fact that they are both warriors or that they both belong to almost extinct cultures trying to build anew on the ruins of ancient orders. The pull towards each other is there, stronger every day, like the currents of life through the universe, and maybe it needn’t be spoken aloud to be acknowledged. But Din is feeling brave, tonight.

Luke opens eyes that Din remembers are blue, even if their exact colour has faded in his memory. _It’s a shame_ , he thinks. He will do something about that one day, but not now. Now feels sacred and intimate and vulnerable, and he’s already at his limit.

“It’s okay,” Luke says, tenderness flooding his eyes again. “I don’t need any more than that. Whatever it is that we have, it’s perfect for me. I don’t want anything else.”

He’s so earnest, so honest. There’s a lump in Din’s throat as he keeps running his fingers through blond strands, as he drinks in the sight of Luke’s face, as he soaks in his presence. 

_I don’t need any more than that_ **.**

As he thought, Luke has understood what he meant without him needing to tell him in so many words, and he has answered in kind. One day, Din knows, he will take his helmet off and let Luke touch his hair. One day, they will touch each other’s faces with the reverence of people who have been given the most precious gift in the world. One day, they will hold each other close, rest in each other’s arms, bask in each other’s warmth. One day, these touches will become their new normal.

One day, they might kiss.

For now, Luke is right. Whatever it is that they have, it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT : If someone could tell me how to link fics, I'd greatly appreciate it, thanks! <3  
> EDIT 2: Done, thank you! <3
> 
> If you want to read more acespec fics, I really loved these:
> 
> [wavelengths by deniigiq](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226144)
> 
> [give in, eyes closed by Strawberry_Champagne](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349676)
> 
> [The Help You Need (The Love You Deserve) by subtlehysteria](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29184225)


End file.
